


(I could) be yours

by NekoAisu



Series: big spender [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Anal Sex, Au Ra Raen (Final Fantasy XIV), Au Ra Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Blow Jobs, Dom/sub Undertones, Exhibitionism, Explicit Sexual Content, Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers Spoilers, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Modern Era, Multiple Orgasms, Name-Calling, Named Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Non-Human Genitalia, Pet Names, Pining, Sex Work, Sexual Content, Specific Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), auri dick headcanons, please let me know if I missed anything, the names are spoilery, vaguely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:41:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22012747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NekoAisu/pseuds/NekoAisu
Summary: The cameras are rolling, G'raha knows, but he can do nothing if not shatter from tip to toe under his lover's careful hand.
Relationships: G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Warrior of Light
Series: big spender [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1584481
Comments: 17
Kudos: 98
Collections: Final Fantasy XIV Gift Exchange (2019)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LeosLust](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeosLust/gifts).



> unstoppable force of horny vs immovable object of my lack of ability to write smut
> 
> a prequel of sorts to the main gift fic >:3c

There are better ways to spend Friday nights than staring at the payment reminder for a student loan. Unfortunately, Kamui is not someone who has any other engagements save for setting up a couple cameras and going ham with layering VPNs. He has the money to pay it and his rent besides, but after finals had him working overtime shifts at the campus library and napping in the break room, he… just wants to sleep. Preferably for a good few days. 

Sleeping does not (unfortunately) pay his bills, nor does the less-than-livable wage he gets every two weeks as a librarian. He has the degree, the experience, the  _ absolute addiction to convenience store snacks  _ required by working twelve hour shifts every finals week (with a ten minute lunch break) and he gets paid  _ maybe  _ enough to cover sharing a five hundred square foot apartment in the least safe part of town with at least one if not two other people. Given his current living situation, he is grateful for the sheer volume of tips he collects from his other job. 

He blinks and stands from his desk, bumping his knee on the underside, and barely manages to catch his half-empty mug before it spills tea all over his keyboard. It is not graceful, charming, or sexy in any way. Being that said second job depends heavily on his requisite skills of seduction (few though they may be), it is an ill omen. He sets the cup down and lets out a slow breath.

He enjoys doing cam work. It’s safe enough and he can control who is allowed into his streams with relative ease (blessed be the block button). Plus, it can be done from the comfort of his bedroom. He also enjoys privacy just as much as he does getting off on camera, so before anything is set up or considered, he closes every sliding cabinet door and clears off any shelves visible in potential shots. He’s been at this long enough that postcoital Q & A sessions have made his regulars aware of his preference for tea over coffee, what flavor of ice cream is his favorite, and how long it takes him to do his hair when working around a set of very prominent horns among many other things. The need to cover up still persists.

He sets up the cameras once everything has been covered up, checking the angles and lighting before moving on to the VPNs and region blocks. Once each step has been completed, he takes a shower and very,  _ very  _ thoroughly cleans himself from head to toe. The hallway tile is freezing against his bare feet when he hurries to his room.

Getting dressed is a regular affair. Even if he changes from civvies to a towel to something delicate enough he has trouble shimmying it over his scales without threads catching, it’s just part of his usual schedule same as the knock on his door. 

Shuffling over in slippers and a particularly large sweater, Kamui opens the door. “Good evening, Raha,” he greets pleasantly.

The Miqo’te beams, cheeks dimpling and neck turned sharply upward to meet Kamui’s eyes. His tone is far from serious when he says, “Hey.”

Kamui steps back to let him into the apartment and closes the door, flipping the lock and sliding the bolt into place for good measure. He may not be in the  _ worst  _ part of town, but that sure as hell doesn’t mean he’s in the  _ best,  _ either. He slides down the hallway (habits of youth die hard) and nearly trips over G’raha’s discarded bag with half a swear and some questionable slipper-clad footwork. “There is a  _ table  _ for a  _ reason,  _ Raha.”

“Yeah, but face-down-ass-up is a good look for you,” he replies, casual and comfortable while rolling around on Kamui’s bed. “Have I told you how excited I am to go down on you today, because I am.”

Kamui groans, pinching the bridge of his nose and locking his glasses slightly askew. “There is a very clear difference between our idea of sexy and a potential broken nose.”

“You’d have a very handsome bloody nose,” G’raha asserts, finally finding a position he is pleased with, tail flicking. “Hydaelyn really put all her character creation points into attractiveness with you.”

Kamui laughs, flicking hangers down the closet rod. “And wit, with you.”

He has his closet separated into sections—casualwear, formalwear, and underwear. While each sound innocuous enough on their own, there comes the allotment for each category that is strictly for work only—and hanging in his closet next to a disused winter coat is piece one to his evening ensemble.

From its place on a cheap, plastic hanger, a satin bodysuit looks thoroughly out of its element. Kamui feels like he is, too, once it’s on and zipped up in back. He has trouble with this one  _ every time _ because the tiny little charm hanging from the zipper mechanism is too slippery to stay pinched between his fingers. It’s one of those uncomfortably rich things LordCommander sent him as a gift with the explicit instructions to leave it in its box if it was not to his taste. Leave something worth more than his left kidney in a fabric-lined box with that even has a  _ clasp.  _ A clasp! For a box likely intended to be discarded!

(Needless to say, he did not leave it in the box. From the tips and subsequent gifts purchased for him─and shipped to a PO box with a forwarding order on it─he assumes his use is well received.)

He has half the heart to follow the second part of the instructions─that being staining the satin in a very specific and not at all child-friendly way—but not enough of it to do so without making sure he gets his money’s worth out of it. Maybe tonight, depending on how well his audience tips, but likely not. With the holidays nearly upon them, most wallets are emptied on friends and family instead of an untouchable vision on their laptop screen. He doesn’t hold out hope for anyone being particularly charitable this evening.

After the bodysuit is on (and snug around his hips in a way that makes him very curious about how tailoring it without his measurements worked) he allows G’raha to comb his hair. It takes a hot second to work it from one dampened braid into another when his hair-band decides he would be better served if it were to snap, but the Miqo’te is nothing if not stubborn to fault.

A few minutes after he slides his glasses onto his face and tall boots up his legs, his phone chimes, screen lighting up to display a reminder:  **Stream in 30 min!**

He helps his soon-to-be-costar into his own outfit (and where the hell did he even  _ find  _ all of his graceful drapery?) and hunts for pants. Nothing ever fits him at the leg, if it fits his hips. Such is the curse of being Auri. As the proud owner of one (1) pair of well-fitting pants, he intends to make good use of them. 

Standing, he is acutely aware of how the stiff fabric slides against the silken weave underneath, a counterpoint to how the deep V of the top refuses to consistently cover more than the barest third of his chest.

He wishes to have a good few  _ highly incriminating  _ words with LordCommander about how his understanding of the word “sexy” seems to hinge on Kamui wearing progressively  _ more  _ clothing rather than  _ less  _ of it.

The bodysuit itself is too rich for his taste, but it suits (ha) the occasion─solid black and cut deep enough he begins to fret over something so innocuous as the split between his ribcage and stomach─and G’raha slides a hand underneath the fabric to cop a preemptive feel. He’s vaguely awed when he remarks, “Wow.”

“Is that really all you have to say?” Kamui shivers when there is a  _ very  _ clear brush against one of his nipples. “The stream starts in five. Settle down.”

G’raha smiles with too many teeth, eyes taking on that strangely distant quality they always have when he sits down in front of the camera, and does not seem all too aware of how his shoulders set with tension disguised as confidence. “Are you ready?”

Kamui flicks on the studio lights he’d set up prior, enters a title, and says, “Yes. I would think so, Exarch.”

“Let’s begin.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> G'raha "I speak solely in innuendo" Tia has the best orgasm of the century. Goodbye 2019.
> 
> or, in mildly improved terms, given the lack of plausible deniability if asked what he was doing that warranted a noise complaint, G’raha Tia is resigned to his fate of telling whomever asks that he was getting the succ of a lifetime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i can't take anything seriously. can u tell? yes? good.
> 
> good! bye! 2019! may everyone make fat stacks, vibe with themselves, and curb-stomp gods in 2020! 
> 
> (seriously tho, live your dreams. go wild. go a little feral. bring back the guillotine to end capitalism. y'know, the usual new year's resolutions)

Kamui really wishes he had thought of bumping up the chat font size. With his glasses tossed aside and precum smeared perilously close to his eyelashes, he can’t see more than rapidly sliding blobs. G’raha tugs on his hair—gently and with care around his secondary horns—in reminder. He has a job to do and it sure isn’t squinting at off-white, Arial size ten chat logs as they scroll past. 

Opening his mouth, Kamui does his best not to flush brightly at the murmurs of _beautiful_ and _so good for me_ G’raha whispers. They’re soft enough to not get picked up by the microphone and so devastatingly intimate it nearly makes him forget about the voyeuristic gaze of his video camera. When Kamui puts his mouth on him, the praises stutter out to a low groan. A deep breath. The beginnings of a choked off moan.

They’ve done this a good few times. It’s nothing new for Kamui’s horns to poke insistently at G’raha’s hips when he presses forward until he’s nearly nose-to-pelvis. It is a good thing that the Seeker is far from ticklish (in those areas only) or he would be squirming in a decidedly non-Exarch way. Kamui knows he can press his palms to G’raha’s thighs and press them apart, can take some minor liberties with slipping a hand around behind him and scratching gently at the base of his tail, can deign to grant a break to the man coming apart above him.

But he doesn’t do any of those things, this time. Instead, he simply sucks and licks and goes through a minor moment of panic when he his jaw spasms and he nearly bites the dick in his mouth on accident. G’raha guides him with a steady grip on his horns, tilting him this way and that for better angles, better suction, a better view of how his eyes redden and begin to tear up when he takes him a little too deep.

Kamui simply does his job and listens to the familiar _ting-ting_ of credits being funneled into his PayPal account by people whose priorities are probably just as disorganized as his.

“O _h,_ your favorite lordling is here,” G’raha remarks, barely managing his attempt at nonchalance. Kamui sucks a little harder for his efforts. “By the Twelve, _nnh—!”_

The Raen pulls back and licks his lips, catching drool and the diluted taste of precum in an attempt to preserve what level of dignity he has left. It isn’t very successful, given the amount of saliva having already slipped out of his mouth and down his scales to his neck. His voice is rough when he asks, “Want to cum, Exarch?”

“Are you offering?”

“Yes,” Kamui confirms. “That, or I find LordCommander and give him the blowjob you seem intent to ignore.”

G’raha huffs a laugh, hands shifting to run through Kamui’s hair, and replies, “That you would be so disloyal, my dear.”

Kamui very pointedly ignores how the pet name makes red spill from cheek to cheek. “So, cumming or not?”

The chat pings wildly. A soft _ting-ting-ting_ sounds out. 

“We’ve reached a goal,” G’raha says, smiling in a way that can only be described as smug. “A certain person by the name of _EmergencySelfControl_ donated five hundred credits. Thank you.”

Kamui rakes his nails down the Seeker’s inner thigh, the pale skin protected from red lines solely by the fitted slacks still covering them, button popped and zipper down to allow Kamui access to his cock. G’raha’s breath stutters and his smile warps to something darker.

“Do you have want of my attention?”

“Do you have want of more than blueballs?”

He shrugs, right ear flicking in the way it tends to do when he’s nervous, and says, “Of course. We simply have to let our lovely patron decide if it will be in your mouth, or otherwise.” He tilts his head, assuming an aura that Kamui likes to call “Kneel Before Me, Peasant,” and addresses _EmergencySelfControl_ with a short command of, “You will make your decision promptly.”

The chat pings again, the gentle chime overlapping for a good few seconds when Kamui takes G’raha in hand and strokes him, twisting his wrist and nipping at exposed skin to distract from the coldness of the lube. 

“Kamui, my lo—hn _aa-_ nn! Will you _listen,”_ G’raha all but whines, voice uncommonly unsteady. He presses against Kamui’s shoulders to get him to ease off, shivering when the Raen’s thumb rubs across his slit. “You are _terrible!”_

“You adore it,” Kamui snipes back. 

“That I do,” he agrees. “Our patron has decided what they would like.”

Kamui looks at him expectantly, pupils blown to the point where the pink of his iris is nearly invisible against the fever-bright red of his limbal rings.

“Make me cum for you.”

And like a man drowning, Kamui can do nothing if not obey. 

He does what he knows G’raha likes─that slight edge of pleasure-pain from his nails pressing down too hard onto the skin of his hips, the deep rumble of a groan where it rises and resonates around him, the incessant massaging of the skin right above his tail─until the man is quaking. Though he is still imperious, there is a fine flush to his cheeks and a slackness to his jaw that is all too telling. Kamui pulls back a bit, inhales, and very carefully takes him to the base and _moans._

It’s nothing explosive, not the sort of thing you would expect from someone who is so naturally expressive, but instead a small noise of surprise smothered with the bite of G’raha’s teeth into his bottom lip. His chest heaves and his shirt has fallen off one shoulder, the half-buttoned body of it having been pushed up and out of the way early on. In the glow of no fewer than three different studio lights, he could be an advertisement, Kamui thinks. Well, only if the advertisement cut out the semi-obvious drips on his pant legs. 

He suckles gently until G’raha presses at his shoulder again, pulling off and working his jaw to avoid a building cramp. His voice is worse than it has been before when he rasps, “Good?”

G’raha nods, catching his breath. His smile is lopsided when he remarks, “You have a little something, uh, there─” he gestures to the corner of Kamui’s mouth “─you may want to clean up.”

Kamui leverages up higher on his knees and pulls him down for an impromptu kiss, ignoring the noise of indignation G’raha makes when their lips meet. He opens his mouth, insistent, and the chat picks up again. He whispers, _“Nothing left, Raha. Kiss me?”_

When G’raha responds, he smiles against his lips. _“Of course. Overstim request, by the way.”_

_“Thank you.”_

They kiss languidly for all of a moment before Kamui bites lightly at his lip and deepens it, hands wandering to places they likely should not be. He continues his path of conquest until G’raha is laid out beneath him and the camera he’d set up for the high angle shot is enable with a smooth tap of a couple buttons. He very pointedly does not think about how much the shirt costs when he takes the sides in his hands and pulls them apart, popping buttons and making G’raha shiver. 

“That was really hot. Wow.”

Kamui squints, vision a bit more than simply blurry without his glasses, and asks, “I have no idea if you’re kidding or not.”

G’raha laughs, bringing a leg up to pull Kamui’s hips flush against his. “Too hard to be kidding, my dear.”

And he is hard again (Seeker refractory periods are terrifying even after a year of getting to know them firsthand) where he ruts gently against the very obvious bulge in Kamui’s own pants. He prays for the sanctity of his poor, overworked bedsprings. 

“So… best out of three?” G’raha grins at him, teasing and commanding all at once. 

“If you make it that far.”

“And miss the sight of you coming apart beneath me? Not a chance.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feedback for the poor? spare a kudos? a comment? some assorted keysmashing? help a writer in need (of validation) 
> 
> And to my pal LeosLust: may your 2020 be christened by the might of my lov for u n kamui. bless u.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Good luck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot how to write halfway through finishing this

Kamui is decently sure G’raha may be dying. Sat atop his hips and trembling like his nerves decided to misfire enmasse, the Seeker is a mess in just about all ways. 

The loose shirt he’d donned at the beginning of the stream hangs valiantly from the side of the bed, half the buttons missing and a couple seams popped to match. His pants had been pulled down and then off, tossed somewhere in the corner of Kamui’s room, leaving him in silken, black boxer briefs. 

Or, well, would have. If ignoring the fact that simply pulling the fabric aside would not be enough clearance for Kamui to get  _ one  _ dick in, much less  _ both _ of them (though G’raha knows his limits and only tries to fit both when off a stream). The underwear were discarded same as the rest of his clothes. Kamui, however, is still mostly clothed beneath him.

The bodysuit has been shoved open by G’raha’s uncoordinated hands, palms finding better purchase on Kamui’s skin than atop slippery fabric, but remains otherwise intact. Having been half-savaged by the Seeker’s whims, he finds it a difficult thing to keep his hands to himself. G’raha shudders atop him, an image of overstimulation, and his tail whips about, smacking Kamui’s knees and thighs with abandon. The urge to grip his hips is there same as the fire burning low in his stomach. He attempts a touch, hands sliding against G’raha’s own to intertwine. 

He is denied.

The strict no-playing-at-boyfriends rule strikes again in the form of G’raha gathering his wits and shifting and  _ oh. My gods. Oh my  _ fucking  _ gods.  _ Kamui might be dying, too. He makes a sound like it, at the least. 

“Too good for you, Kamui? Wasn’t this what you wanted?”

He wheezes in response. How the hell G’raha manages to be coherent while taking him is unknowable, but  _ damn  _ if it doesn’t do things to him. 

“Remember, no touching.”

Kamui nods and does his best to brace himself, but the moment G’raha moves, he is absolutely, positively  _ gone.  _

They’ve done this a lot. It isn’t the first time G’raha has ridden him (nor will it be the last, he hopes), but it’s the first time he’s done so after Kamui has already cum once. The feeling is just barely on the pleasurable side of overwhelming and he fears that he may drown in it. G’raha smiles at him, all sharp teeth and sharp eyes and wicked tongue, and Kamui knows that is his intent.

It’s a singular type of torture to lay under him and not touch. He wants to kiss, to hold, to buck his hips up and off the bed and hear G’raha make one of his trademark rumbling purrs. He wants so badly it feels like  _ need _ . Yet, against all odds, he refrains.

G’raha arches his back, thighs tensing as he lifts himself up and actually begins to ride him—though the grinding and rocking and little bounces were already hell on Kamui’s nerves—and the chat goes  _ wild _ . The soft chiming is nearly like an alarm with the influx of new messages forcing it to cut and layer cacophonously. 

Kamui squints at them and G’raha drops himself back down the same time he manages to make out the familiar username of  **_LordCommander_ ** dumping a fortune into his bank account. He thinks he may have ascended. Thank you, Hydaelyn, for making G’raha Tia capable of effortlessly riding one of his dicks. Kamui owes the Mothercrystal tribute and probably his soul.

It is hard to pray with all the blood in his body concentrated down south and not, you know, letting him think. Or breathe in anything than harried gasps. Though, that may be the product of G’raha bouncing determinedly atop him, sweaty and smug in a way that says  _ “I know I’m the best you’ve ever had.”  _ It’s part of his brand—that the same person who talks viewers through touching themselves with short commands and heady praise is not always so controlled—and there is a clear majority in the number of viewers tipping and talking in chat who call him Exarch. Kamui barely remembers to call him by his screen-name when he begins to shake apart, ignoring the single spoken rule (no touching) to grab G’raha’s hips and grind up into him.

The Seeker makes an indignant noise, frowning in a way that promises a verbal dressing down, and growls. “You will release me.”

Kamui does not, but not out of conscious choice. That growl  _ does things  _ to him and, if the endless chat notifications are of any indication, it does things to people half a world away as well. Instead, he grits his teeth and has to deny the acute urge to sink them into the skin of G’raha’s neck and shoulders. 

(They don’t do marks. It’s another one of Exarch’s many rules. He is pristine from tip to toe—save for the tattoos covered up with heavy stage makeup—and would not have that ruined by Kamui being bitey every few weeks.

It is also a precaution. G’raha would not feed his closeted crush with things like faded hickies and the crushing sensation of letting Kamui treat him like something other than a friend and coworker. He would not be able to stand seeing him happy with another, having known how it feels to have his affection reciprocated  even if just in jest .)

They fit together perfectly at the hip, Kamui able to thrust up fluidly while G’raha grips at his wrists for purchase. It’s not hard to see that he is absolutely furious, nails biting into skin and pressing sharply against ivory scaling one of many such signs, but he is also les controlled to match. 

Exarch is cold fury. He is distant in a way that makes patrons seek to close the gap (to be good for him) and earn his attention. The vision moaning and growling atop him is not that. G’raha is most similar to how he was when starting out, a good few years past legal but playing up his youthful face to rake in more money than is strictly necessary to pay his bills and line his pockets. The wild and nearly  _ feral  _ being above him is a lot like the veiled  _ Catcubine  _ of yore. The person he was before camming became his job and travel a hobby. 

Kamui smiles, nearly forgetting his question halfway through speaking it, and asks, “I really can’t?”

“We hav- _ hnn!  _ Rules, Kamui!”

“We do,” he agrees, “but what about our lovely patron? You’re a tough one to please, Exarch.”

And like hearing the name flipped a switch back to where it should have been, G’raha frowns, anger replaced with disappointment and displeasure, and commands, “Release me, Kamui.”

He does, this time. It leaves reddened marks all along the Seeker’s hips, but he does. G’raha does not smile. 

“That you would treat me like an object for your pleasure,” he begins, reaching behind himself with a barely coordinated arm. He retrieves the shirt he had been wearing prior and sighs at the state of it. “Give me your hands.”

Kamui does, contrite and quiet (save for the little gasps and groans from G’raha shifting to wrap layers of folded-up fabric around his wrists and tie them off). He is reflecting. Maybe. It is fantastically difficult to be appropriately repentant when you know your partner is only angry for show. They have safewords and signals that vary from  _ slow down  _ to  _ stop absolutely everything _ . Everything includes the stream, too. Kamui would have let go and stopped immediately, had G’raha signalled in any way.

He did not, however, and behind the imperious mask of being the Exarch, Kamui can see him fighting the want to laugh. He has always been terrible at seriousness. 

“I had thought you capable of following orders. How disappointing.”

Kamui frowns, the motion exaggerated and obviously playful. “Come on, Exarch—“

G’raha sighs, reaching forward to place a finger against Kamui’s lips. “Hush. If you want to use me so badly, I would assume you are ready to be treated the same.”

Kamui shudders, caught between wanting to nod and needing to silently signal and keep the charade going. He ends up squeaking, barely managing to abort his reflexive “yes, please” before it pours from his mouth. G’raha taps once on his leg, asking after his consent. He nods, the motion small and nearly unnoticeable from the camera’s current angle. 

“I seem to remember you speaking of a certain patron’s request. What was it? Overstimulation?”

Kamui knows well enough not to answer.

“Well, we have an hour and a half left and you seem a bit far away from the promised reward for such a wonderful tip. Let’s see how long you last, Kamui.”

He revises his prayer from a thank-you to a curse-you the moment G’raha looks down at him and smiles.

“Good luck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eventually i will learn to write detailed dicking but today is unfortunately not that day

**Author's Note:**

> i can't believe u read all of this. wow. i love you.
> 
> was really tempted to make raha reply with "throw wide the gates" at that last line ngl  
> throw wide them thighs pls,,,,, throw them wide and stop making me write soft and sweet nsfws instead of what i have plotted out, raha!!!!
> 
> hmu on:  
> tumblr ─ https://ffxivimagines.tumblr.com/  
> twitter ─ twitter.com/FlamingAceKiri  
> discord ─ NekoAisu#7099  
> feel free to dm or @ me! i'm a mess but i sure do love makin friends!


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